Though tears did not show, his heart bled uncontrollably within. Its only relief came when a final, distant snap resounded, and the tower bent in the middle at a right angle. The fall then came rapidly, and the satellite on top of the tower folded underneath the structure, just before it slammed into the ground, exploding into a million flying shards. The frame of the tower that came behind it buckled when it impacted the ground, and the entire structure shattered. Its pieces scattered across the valley floor. Some knocked over trees, others landed in the rushing river, but most were left dispersed in the forest, never to be seen again.
Dylan still sat in the shuttle’s passenger hold. He turned his face to the rear of the compartment, sobbing quietly with his arms folded across his chest. He did not want anyone to see him, but he could not withhold the grief until they got back to the city.
The last sounds of dwindling destruction reached Dylan’s ears, and he knew the men would be returning to the ship soon. He used his shirttail to quickly dry his eyes, and he rose to his feet. He sniffed once more and then slammed the heel of his palm into the wall of the shuttle with all his might, producing a loud, metallic bang in the small compartment. He turned and leaned his body against the wall, exhaling a long, sorrowful sigh.
Some small fires broke out, but no swelling explosions to speak of. The men were satisfied. They could go home and rest easy, knowing their trial was over.
The low rumble of the shuttle’s still fading engines was soon overwhelmed by the rushing noise of hundreds of cheering humans, all running towards the landing platform with joyous smiles which augmented their feelings of relief in knowing that the endeavor had been victorious. The shuttle doors hissed open, and one by one, the soldiers, with egos flooded by triumph, marched out onto the landing platform to greet the people as heroes.
The men lined up respectably, and the crowd remained disciplined in their shows of emotion with hearty handshakes and slaps on the back amongst the unrestrained cheering.
Of the men lining up to receive their gratification, only one straggled behind - this one labored by the burden of bearing horrible news to an innocent girl who would never have expected to hear it. With a grim expression, Stephen stepped slowly into line among his newfound comrades, who greeted him just as cheerfully as the deafening crowd around them. After a moment, the families of the heroes began to work their way into the huddle and reunite with their own, embracing and kissing as tears flowed freely.
Kirin ran forward with the crowd, her heart filled with happiness. When she neared the platform, she began searching the assembled crew for her father, but could not spot his familiar figure anywhere. Confident that he was probably just enveloped by the mob, she waited patiently for a slight opening in the huge conglomeration of people to form. She worked her way up towards the platform.
Kirin gently pressed her way through the people, but did not bother to ask pardon from anyone she bumped into, for no one would have noticed her anyway. As she neared the shuttle, Kirin walked atop a small mound of earth, so that she was on level with the row of men being simultaneously congratulated by dozens of people. Still, she did not spot her father anywhere in the non-dispersing crowd. A twinge of frustration began to rise within her, and she furrowed her eyebrows.
It was then that Kirin’s eyes met directly with those of Stephen, who had been waiting patiently for her to spot him. She saw that his face was laden with sorrow among the happiness of the moment, and she was puzzled as to why he would be staring at her. She further developed an expression of confusion as Stephen stepped down from the platform and began slowly walking toward her.
She waited impatiently for him, not knowing what to expect, and in the meantime she resumed her sporadic search for her father. She glanced from joyous face to joyous face, all of which were none she was looking for. As Stephen came near, she momentarily gave up her task to meet him and see what was troubling him.
Stephen stopped directly in front of her and remained still, his sorrowed face never changing its countenance. Kirin watched him reach into his pocket and produce a tiny, reflective object. He held out the ring for her to take.
Kirin took the object slowly, pretending that it was not what it was. A moment of final reluctance broke way, and the shock of sudden, horrible realization filled her entire being. She shuddered in instant panic and immediately began looking among the crowd again, hoping…praying…
Then, Kirin began slowly stepping backwards, her face now full of fear and disbelief. She continued to search franticly about with her eyes as she stepped back. She shook uncontrollably from the realization that there was no remaining hope, and that what she had feared was true.
Stephen lowered his eyes in a show of sympathy and began to walk in her direction again, only hoping to talk with her and, perhaps, be of some comfort. She drew back into the crowd, away from the rejoicing scene - instantaneously frightened and alienated. As Stephen continued to come closer, she looked more and more frantically about, deceiving herself into believing that it was still possible… that he could still be hidden somewhere among the crowd.
Stephen continued to approach her as she darted radically about, bumping from person to person. Everyone she encountered would just urge her back in the direction of the celebration.
When Stephen finally arrived in front of Kirin, she realized his uninvited presence and, with a burst of fear, slapped him hard across the face.
Instantly shocked, Stephen leaned sideways, holding his jaw in his hand. He held it not so much from pain, but rather astonishment and misunderstanding.
Kirin clasped her hands over her mouth and turned into the crowd, running away with all her might - to where, she did not know. Kirin was alone and heartbroken in a place that was still not her home.
“Kirin, Wait!” Stephen cried out in futility above the noise of the crowd. He began to chase in her direction, but the cheering mob instantly grabbed him up and cheered his success.
Stephen knew that the people did not yet realize what had happened, so he decided it would be best not to interrupt their moment of celebration by ordering them to release him. However, he did not return their smiles or their embraces; he only watched on in pity as the innocent girl disappeared among the mass of rejoicing people, fleeing from the injustice of reality.
With a large amount of prodding from the crowd, Stephen was pushed back toward the platform. It was then that he noticed Dylan standing by the edge of the landing pad, preparing to walk down the steps. But Dylan had paused to make sure that Stephen’s eyes met with his. In an instant, the two men knew what each other were thinking and feeling.
They both desired the same thing.
Dylan waited at the edge of the outcropping, facing the wide stretching valley below. He kept his back to the sound of the furious footsteps marching up the hill behind him. Dylan turned his head and noticed that Stephen had found himself an eight-foot long, contorted stick. Dylan turned the rest of his body around and produced his own staff, which was shorter and straight.
Stephen quickened his pace and began to roar with anger. He charged Dylan with his weapon pointed far out in front of him.
When Stephen was only a few meters away, Dylan thrust the bottom of his staff forward and then slung it swiftly to the side, parrying his attacker’s lunge.
Stephen recovered quickly and swung again with another battle cry.
This time, Dylan held his own staff straight up with both hands and allowed Stephen to strike its center with all his might. He absorbed the blow easily and seized the opportunity to swipe across Stephen’s feet.
As Stephen stumbled and began to fall, Dylan wrapped an arm around his torso and threw him in the direction of the precipice - forcing Stephen to land hard on his back, with his head and shoulders dangling over the edge.
By the time Stephen could raise his head, Dylan’s staff was already pressing against his neck.
“I don’t like you,” Dylan said calmly. “But I don’t hate you. I don’t know w
hy Michael took to you like he did, but I respect his wishes.”
Stephen said nothing, staring Dylan down with both contempt and reverence simultaneously.
“I’ll do for you what he would have done in my place,” he concluded. With this, Dylan turned and left. He did not look back.
Stephen sat up and cradled his sore neck, contemplating what he had just heard. He had never felt worse in his entire life.
The consistent darkness that blanketed the countryside was interrupted in one particular spot along the coast by the glow of over a hundred bonfires burning within and around the city. People danced joyously and smiled to one another in open friendship, whether or not they had ever met before. Open arms were met with other open arms, and hands shook vigorously when they found partners.
The lively dance songs, being played on simple fiddles and drums, carried as sweet songs of victory on the midnight air. All of the human men, women and children danced in frivolous splendor… all but a few.
Stephen wondered where Kirin had gone. He feared the blow she was dealt might have been more than she could handle, and he worried for her health. He believed she could survive, but he knew she would never be happy alone. He could not imagine how she would fare during the upcoming weeks, months and years.
Stephen had not moved since his confrontation with Dylan, and he had no desire to. There, at the edge of the precipice, Stephen mourned his various losses. He sat alone on the overlook, leaning on one knee with his back hunched over in sorrow. He stared forward and downward - out onto the wide stretching field of short grass below that bordered the forest on his left and a cliff to the ocean shore on his right.
Stephen remembered the first time he had the scaled the rock face on top of which he now sat. He had been with Mandel on that day. And that day had also been the first time he would encounter Michael in person. He remembered how he felt the first time he saw the city - a lone, gleaming speck in the distance, calling as a beacon for the distressed traveler.
It was only then that Stephen realized how drastically his life had been transformed in merely a few short weeks. He had risen to power over the entire human race and taken the place of the Governor whom he had known as a superior his entire life.
These thoughts were momentarily interrupted as a metallic object flashed by, attracted Stephen’s attention. The shuttle was returning from the site of the now ruined tower of the alien barbarians, where it had been sent to observe and document information for future historical and educational reference. He did not watch as it glided over the tops of the skyscrapers behind him and came to rest on its landing pad inside the city limits.
Stephen’s mind mulled over deeper and deeper thoughts silently for several minutes. He felt a familiar tug at his heart, signaling remorse in that over the recent loss of all his friends and mentors, Stephen could not shed tears. He had often wondered if it were inhuman of him to not be so openly emotional, even when no one else was present. He had never cried in his adult life over a personal loss, and very rarely did he cry from pain. But then, Stephen did not consider the watering of eyes over pain to be an emotional expression; it was only an involuntary reflex. He felt pain in his heart over the deaths of his own loved ones, but he now grieved more within himself for Kirin’s loss, and he found it a strange sensation. The agony his soul wrenched forth was excruciated, but never did he let himself be broken to the level of outward crying.
“Governor Carlisse…Governor Carlisse!” came a distant, yet very urgent, voice.
Stephen turned around to see a man running wildly towards him, screaming as he went. Not far behind the man, (whom Stephen now recognized as one of the shuttle pilots) were several other men, running with flashlights and apparently just as frantic as their leader. Stephen could sense their urgency in seeking him out right away, and so he rose to meet them. He began walking at first, and then ran harder and harder as he neared the lead runner. He was unsure and, at the same time, very afraid of what had happened. He only prayed it was not some horrible news of Kirin.
“Governor…” the young man gasped out, as he came to rest in front of Stephen. “…the tower…you must…come quickly …”
Stephen put his arm on the exhausted youth. “Slow down, man. It’s Davis, isn’t it?” he asked, pleased that he had remembered the co-pilot’s name.
“Yes,” Davis replied.
“Rest a moment,” Stephen urged.
At this, Davis stood up straight with a horrified look on his face. He inhaled quickly and practically shouted, “There isn’t time!”
The other men came up behind them and stopped. One of them, the primary shuttle pilot named Joel, stood forward from the band.
“Governor, you must come see for yourself. We’re in danger.”
The mottled, black and white images on the small monitor were gradually coming into focus as Stephen entered the control room of the city. He knew them to be pre-recorded images from a hand-held camera, even before they made a distinct picture. From where they had been taken, he did not know.
“What is this, Captain?” Stephen asked.
“We rushed back from the tower as soon as we discovered this. We were documenting the crash site. Each man took a camera and headed down a different direction from where we landed to film the wreckage. Davis captured these pictures from a hillside directly above the base of the tower.”
Stephen then turned to the monitor to see that the picture had come into focus but was still bouncing around. The person who recorded it was obviously walking at the same time. After a moment of random tree limbs and leaves on the monitor, the focus came to rest on a clearing in front of what Stephen recognized as the mangled, broken base of the gargantuan tower.
The daylight in the image was almost gone, but the twilight was sufficient enough to see some details in the film: the texture of the remaining high-rising metal beams and supports above, the mist that hung in the air nearby, and, as the camera moved further down the base of the tower, the distinct image of hundreds upon hundreds of tiny lights being carried by something below. Knowing this to be the survivors of the crash, Stephen watched on in curiosity as to what exactly these members of the evil race were doing in such a large mass.
For several moments, nothing on the screen seemed different. The image moved slightly from time to time with the motion of the cameraman, but the torches below merely moved around in the same tight cluster of gatherers.
Stephen turned to the men behind him and asked, “What does this mean? I don’t see the danger in the survivors carrying torches.”
The Shuttle Captain nodded in agreement.
“I don’t either,” said Joel. “But this is what frightened me.”
The Captain pressed the rapid play button on the console below the monitor, and the image sped up, almost to the point of being indecipherable. After a moment, the image noticeably changed time frames, from a period when the camera was stopped and then started again. The captain returned the image to normal speed.
Stephen leaned forward and concentrated on what he saw before him. The area was much darker, and so he assumed a good deal of time had passed. Again he saw the bright flames from several hundreds of torches…only something was different. The area where the torches were was changing constantly. Then Stephen understood what was happening.
An army, an army of immense size, was marching and carrying torches high in hands as it went away from the tower wreckage and came steadily closer in the direction of the city. They were going to attempt a direct offensive attack.
Stephen sat back in amazement. His thoughts no longer centered on Kirin, but rather on the safety of every human being on the planet. He looked to the Captain.
“How long before they get here, Joel?” he asked.
“We’ve estimated four days at a march of five kilometers an hour,” replied the captain.
Stephen frowned and looked to the ground. “There’s no possible way the walls would hold an attack of that magnitude, and too many of u
s have died already in hand to hand combat with these things…”
Joel nodded sadly in confirmation and said, “That’s right, sir. I believe there may only be one option that can save the people now.”
Stephen closed his eyes and listened to the sweet melody being played outside as the people continued to celebrate. His heart was crushed at what he knew he must do.
“Everyone,” Stephen shouted. “Stop and listen!”
The music ceased as the voice over the loudspeakers blared through the city streets. Stephen was leaning over the balcony at the capitol building with a microphone standing at his side. The people in the streets put down their drinks and instruments to give him undivided attention. Most expected his speech to be a reprise of the day’s earlier victory. Others thought it to be a dedication to the lost Commander. But no one suspected the emergency of what he was about to say.
“We must flee the city!”
The crowd began buzzing with conversation, and several people yelled, “Why?”
Stephen continued, “The tower we destroyed poses us no threat anymore. But the survivors of the wreck have gathered to form an army… and they’re marching this way.”
Again, the crowd stirred with murmuring.
“How many?” a man shouted.
Stephen imagined again the field of torches he had seen on the video monitor and estimated. “At least eight hundred.”
The disheartened crowd remained silent.
“And we have only a hundred or so soldiers and officers left,” Stephen said. “We are horribly outnumbered.”
The crowd remained silent in astonishment.
Stephen shook his head, heartbroken. “Unless anyone would like to fight with us, we have no army, and we must flee! So everyone, please return to your homes and gather your belongings. If we are ready to leave by daybreak, we can get about a four-day head start on them.”
Haven Page 19
